My Little Flour
by WindowChild
Summary: AU. Prim was the aftermath of a one night stand - the product of a Mellark as much as an Everdeen. But when Katniss and Peeta return from their first round of Hunger Games, the terrible secret is revealed at the worst of times. Catching Fire spoilers.
1. Memories with a Dash of Passion

A/N: First of all, for the purposes of this story, Mrs. Everdeen's first name is Lillian. I figured the flower thing with their kids has to come from somewhere and anyway, I'm not about to call her Mrs. Everdeen the entire time. And Mr. Everdeen is Eric, Mr. Mellark is Grant, and Mrs. Mellark is Agnes. Don't those sort of fit them?

Secondly, on the plot. I know Prim's not really Peeta's half sister, but I can dream of an AU, can't I? Besides, she's blonde like he is, kind like he is… and well, I'll let the story tell the rest.

Oh, and just so no one yells, I'm not stupid – the title's a pun. Thanks for clicking, please read and review!

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The knock on the door set Lillian Everdeen up from her stool, hands flying to her tired eyes. A visitor, so late? Eric had put Katniss to bed hours ago, and had retired soon after. Only she was still awake.

"Hello…" Her formal greeting withered and died on her tongue, her eyes taking in the sight of the man before her. She tensed, pupils expanding in surprise. "Are you – what are you…" But then she noticed the small, blonde boy in his arms, and she opened the door a fraction wider. "What are you doing here?"

"My son Peeta burned himself on the stove," Grant replied, hardly looking at her. "It's nothing too serious, I don't think, but I wanted to know if you could treat him." The boy – Peeta, apparently – stared up at her from his father's arms, fat tears squeezed from his blue eyes. He could be no older than Katniss.

"Come in," Lillian said quietly, brushing her fingers against her pants. Past aside, this was her job. It didn't matter who this child's father was.

"Here." She opened a small jar of ointment, gently smearing the cream onto his red marks. Its crimson color gave it a rather raw appearance, but she knew it would heal in mere moments now. She smiled, feeling proud of herself as the little boy rubbed his arm in relief.

"Would you like some water?" she asked, kindly. He was handsome for a child. Well-groomed and dimpled, there would be no guessing that he was from District 12.

Peeta nodded his head, rubbing at his burn with one hand and his wet cheeks with another.

"What do you say, Peeta?" his father prompted.

"Thank you," he blurted out, at once.

Lillian smiled. He reminded her of Grant already. She handed him the glass, patting his unhurt arm as he took it. Sighing, she turned back around to face his father. There was no escaping it now.

"How have you been?" Still, she avoided his direct glance. Instead she stared down the stubble on his chin, the lines around his lips. Every detail she had memorized, but it was nice to see that he hadn't changed. Much.

"Fine," he said, after half a second had slipped by. "I'm alright."

"Agnes?" she asked, coolly. That story would chase them down forever.

"She's fine as well," he answered. Silently, tenderly, he lifted a finger to her chin. She shut her eyes, wincing as he turned her head. "Lillian," he said, whispering now. "I've missed you."

She drew away, stepping back as if scalded. "I – I would bring Katniss out to play with Peeta, only she's asleep."

"That's alright," he said. "I came about the burn, anyway." They both glanced to his son, whose head had dropped to his arms in fatigue. He was fast asleep.

"Please," Lillian retorted, about as scathingly as she could say anything. "Don't tell me you didn't have that at home."

He stood still as stone, eyes unchallenging. That's who he was, Grant. Too decent to deny, too selfish to do the right thing in the first place.

"And you let your child suffer, just so you could talk to me? It's been almost eight years, Grant!" For a moment she sounded pained, sentimental. But a shake of her head and she was icy as ever.

"You wouldn't see me," Grant said. "I tried to explain, all this time, I –"

"Please," she repeated, this time pleading with him. "I can't listen to it again. I've heard, you know. I've heard it all. Around town. Eric bringing gossip home from the Hob." She shook her head, bitterly sneering at him. "Of all the places…"

He sighed, lifting a hand to stop her. "I know I didn't handle things the best. I could have – I should have spoken to you."

"You should have, yes," she said. "You should have warned me, before I discovered by seeing you two in bed." There, she'd said it at last. The reason they had been broken up, torn apart by the _other woman_. The other woman, who was now Grant's wife. Mrs. Mellark, the way Lillian had always wanted to be.

"I –"

Lillian interrupted him, some unknown fiery spirit reaching her. "I gave you a chance! I was going to let you explain, but you went and –"

"She was pregnant," he hissed. Just like that, their argument ended. An argument they shouldn't have been having anyway, since both of them were calm and dignified. These feelings had been building up day after day though, and it was only expected that they relieve themselves in a shouting match.

Grant sank into a chair, head wobbling about his shoulder blades. The excitement from yelling had wound him up, and now he was lift to sink in its aftermath. "I'm not happy with her, Lillian. Not like I was with you. Not even close."

"You had two other children," she said, gesturing towards the sleeping boy. "You couldn't have hated her so much." The words were gripped with venom, her rare ferocity flashing its fangs. Only with Grant, did she ever get this way. In solitude, and with her husband, she was quiet and hesitant.

"She wanted them," he said. "We were married, after all, and I thought…" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Lillian," their eyes met, magnetized by his sudden change in tone, "She hits them. A lot. This burn wasn't an accident."

This, was news. No one gossiped about abuse. Lillian gaped. "But I –"

"He was trying too hard to help, and Agnes pushed him a bit too hard. She hadn't meant to hurt him." But there had been other times, and Lillian could only guess what she'd done to her older boys. Silently, Lillian took in the information. Agnes was no monster, as much as Lillian would have liked to think of her that way. She was only angry and jealous and bitter, as were many people who had grown up in the conditions they had. As hard as she tried to hate, Lillian felt sympathy.

"How old is he?" she asked, after a moment.

"Three, nearly four," Grant replied. He undid the water glass from his son's fingers, taking a sip himself.

"Oh."

Silence spooled before them, a blanket of unfamiliarity. They used to always have something to do talk about. Then, almost identically, they tensed. The heat was palpable, and Lillian had the sense to lean back just as he did forward –

"Stop!" She gave a little shriek, lifting a hand to separate their pairs of lips. "You may not love your wife, but I love my husband." And it was true. Lillian, who had once been so unwilling to give love, now found herself unbearably smitten with two men. Her childhood friend and the man who had swept her off her feet.

"One night," he breathed. "Just one away from her, away from my life. With you." He took a piece of her hair, moving it from her face as only he knew how to do.

Maybe it was the memories or the fact that he was her greatest weakness, but Lillian found herself pulling Peeta into her arms. "Come. We'll put him with Katniss so he doesn't wake up."

Grant raised an eyebrow, its bushiness unable to conceal the delight below. "Will Eric wake up?"

"No," Lillian said, even as she opened the door to her daughter's room. "He's a miner. He needs all the sleep he can get at night."

Even as they placed Peeta by Katniss's side – hoping neither child would wake up to discover it – Grant lifted a hand to her waist. He knew her body as well as she knew his.

Lillian deflated a little, as she watched the children, so helpless to their parents' errors. Sometimes she wondered if her frailty came from keeping too many secrets at once.

"Come," he said, echoing her earlier instructions. And he led her by the hand, pulling her to the couch as their lips met in regret of a life they'd never live. Lillian shut her eyes, letting go as the past overcame them both.

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A/N: Well yeah, that's it for now. I really hope you liked it, and ask you to review whether you did or not. Any kind of comment would mean the world to me. Thanks so much, and happy labor day!


	2. Without a Cure

A/N: Thanks so much to those who reviewed last chapter!

In District 12, pregnancy was nothing unusual. Breeding was practically required to stay alive, especially with the number of hands it took to supply food and money. So despite the Games, and the toll they might have taken on expanding families, children were expected. However, not this one.

At first, Lillian fell ill. She spent hours in front of their grimy toilet, getting sick to her stomach for no particular reason at all. Eric sat behind her nearly all morning, holding her hair and caressing her spine, leaving only when he was forced to go to work.

Then Katniss had waddled in, wrinkling her nose and asking what was wrong with her mother. Lillian could only wretch and wave her out of the room, her initial instincts thinking that it could be infectious. But by the time it did eventually stop, she was fairly certain that this was no disease. Her usual store of medicines had no appeal, and her stomach felt only restless now. With a terrible sinking sensation, Lillian realized what it might be. She wiped her mouth and fixed Katniss some food for lunch, her eyes glazed with thought. Her legs shook with every step she took, threatening to send her sprawling. Even though there was no way to be sure – yet – she had a terrible feeling that this was the answer. It seemed fateful, almost, that their mistake be paid for in such a visible way.

That night when Eric came home, he continued to play the part of the perfect man. Sweeping Katniss into his strong arms, he kissed his wife and stroked her cheek. He asked her how she felt, smiling and tossing Katniss into the air when she said that she was better.

Lillian would always wonder how he did it. He went into the mines every day, and came back with a grin on his lips and a song in his voice. She was sure she couldn't have done it.

"I'll get her to bed then, Lillian," he said, hoisting Katniss onto his shoulders. "Alright?"

"Alright," Lillian echoed. Her hands went almost instinctively to her stomach, resting casually there. She'd gotten used to touching it, patting it. It was almost as if she were trying to detect whether or not a baby grew beneath them.

Eventually, he came to join her in the kitchen. "She's a rebel, that one," he said, eyes shining with love for their daughter. "I can barely get her into bed, nowadays." But would he love this new child, who was not his?

His gaze softened as it fell on his wife, and he gently brushed her hair away from her face. "Can I kiss you?"

"What?" Lillian asked, confused. It took a moment, but then she realized that he meant she might be contagious. "Oh no, I'm not sick."

"Wonderful." With his light but sturdy touch, he pressed his lips against hers. He was always strong, but with a touch of compassion around the edges. She loved him for that. "Have…" His voice trailed away, as if he were restraining himself. "I was worried about you," he said, touching her warm skin. "The last time I've seen you that sick was when you were pregnant with Katniss."

Her eyes widened, shock rattling her from the inside out. Did he know? "I – yes." But as she caught his concerned expression, so full of affection for her, she realized his comment was probably benign. Sighing, trying impossibly hard to breathe, she recognized that she would not be able to go on like this. She'd have to tell him the truth – or a part of it, at the very least. "Eric," she said, grasping his callused hands with her smooth ones, "What if I were pregnant again?" For now, that was all he needed to know.

He looked taken aback, but barely missed a beat. "That would be perfect, Lilly," he said, calling her by that rare nickname. "I would love another daughter."

"What if it's a boy?" she asked, smiling.

"Then, well, we won't tell him I wish he was a girl." There was a pause, as both of them laughed. "Do you really think you could be pregnant, Lillian? We haven't tried recently." The last time was almost two months ago, and she would have already been getting sick for weeks. But she could cover.

"I do think so," she said, quietly. "I've been feeling strange for a while." Grant had come exactly two weeks ago. She'd missed her period two days ago, pretended it was just late, and now she'd gotten sick. The pieces fit with cruel exaction.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. There was nothing accusatory about it, but she still shuddered. Every word would hurt her now, would remind her of what she – no, what they – had done. Shaking her head, ever so slightly, she found herself immersed in self-loathing. She was too weak to confess, too incompetent to lie. Until one day or another, she would be trapped in this awful shaft of half-truths.

"I wasn't sure," she replied. "And I didn't want to worry you."

"Worry me?" he sounded surprised, in a sad way. "This is a good thing, darling." Darling was another word they rarely used with one another, but Eric could pull off any pet name with the utmost sincerity. They sat hand in hand, Lillian's head eventually falling to her husband's shoulder. She rested between his neck and his shirt collar, smelling the smoke imbedded in his skin.

"You should really get your sleep," he said, after an hour had gone by unnoticed. "We'll talk about it more tomorrow."

"Okay," Lillian whispered. She never said no, or refused him anything. It wasn't something she was good at. That's one of the reasons Grant's memory still tugged at her so hard. He was easier to reject and for her to be honest with, because she didn't feel so inferior. So for the second time that month, she was dishonest to her husband.

Once he was asleep, she crept as silently as she could to the bathroom and changed into clothes. A sweater too, since it was so cold out. Then, tiptoeing so as not to make a sound, she left the safety of their home.

Running down the streets of the district as if she had them memorized, she made it to hishome far too quickly. With her heart pounding and blood boiling in her ears, she summoned all of her courage. Tap, tap. Her fingers did the knocking even as they shook; she felt her lungs collapse as if to suffocate her.

She heard the footsteps and watched a shadow flicker through window, her eyes shut to delay the inevitable. The only thing worse than telling him would be coming face to face with his wife.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you find it in your lovely hearts to review me?


	3. Nighttime Conversations

A/N: Sorry to leave this story hanging for so long... Wow, it seems like I've been saying that a lot lately. Anyway, I am back! Glad to be here :). Thanks so much for being patient. I know I don't deserve them, but if you could please read & review, that would be amazing! Love forever :).

Panic huddled in Lillian's chest, and the sound of her heartbeat spread through the night sky.

"What are you doing here?"

She breathed once more; it was only Grant. He wore his night things, a haggard expression tied to his face.

"What are you doing?" he hissed again. He stepped out from the door, hands going to her shoulders. She shuddered, then relaxed at the human contact.

"Grant, I need to talk to you," she pleaded, eyes wide.

His pupils dilated, hiding the brilliant blue of his eyes. She had the feeling that he'd guessed their predicament, merely from her urgency. "You can't wait until morning? Agnes only just fell asleep. She could wake up again."

"No, it needs to be now," Lillian insisted, a certain power thriving in her chest. She felt unused to making demands; in truth, she liked the heightened feeling it lent to her.

"Alright, come in." As with the rest of their lives, each action he performed was with the intentions of a gentleman. It did not appear so different from the way Eric behaved, actually, but Lillian could feel the tickling discrepancies on her skin. Eric pulled those little stunts of kindness for her alone; he had not been born with a knack for chivalry. These mannerisms, the habit of holding the door and pulling out her chair, those were what Grant had been taught. He acted this way for everyone, and Lillian knew not to feel special.

"Grant," she whispered, once they were inside. "Grant," she repeated, for he would not look at her.

"Come with me," he murmured, when she said it the third time. He took her hand, holding it for the first time in years, and she followed him. They ended up in the hall closet, pressed together. Lillian took a shallow inhale, wondering what Agnes and Eric would think of this position. "We have to stay quiet," Grant instructed.

Lillian nodded. "Grant," she began again, "I'm -" But all at once, it became far too difficult to say. She knew it would change them, everything about their distant ties, and it scared her.

"You're what?" he asked. The sharp color of his irises hit her with their full power, and she looked away, ashamed. She curled back into her shell of silent compliance, feeling inadequate.

"Lillian." He surprised her then, as he had the tendency to do. He knelt, his fingers still wrapped around hers. In his way, he wanted to make this easier for her. "Lillian, what is it?" She tried to kneel too, to sit beside him in the tiny space, but he gently pushed her back to standing position. "You can sit after you've told me."

She shut her eyes, nodding, understanding that she would never get through this if she could see him as she spoke. "Grant, I'm pregnant." Silence puddled at their feet, flooding the closet as it dripped on and on. "With your child," she added.

The silence fell apart, and Lillian listened to his rough breathing. He couldn't seem to do it properly anymore. "Well... How - " He stood then, remembering himself. "You should sit, after all. Go on." She didn't fit though, not comfortably, and he took her back into the bakery front room. "We must whisper," he said. She nodded. "Are you... are you really?"

"I haven't confirmed it yet, but yes... I am."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I've thrown up, I've..." she blushed, "I've missed my period."

"Oh. Oh Lillian..." He sounded mournful, near tears even. His fingers raced through his hair, desperate to stay active. He paced around noisily, forgetting all attempts of quiescence. "This is my fault," he murmured. "I never should have encouraged... I never, oh, oh..." He broke off, covering his face.

"It's not your fault," Lillian said softly, going to his side. She laced her thin arms around his shoulder blade, clutching it against her breast. If she did not love him so much still, if she did not cling to the memories of what they used to be, she probably would have blamed him. Any ordinary, selfish person would have. ... But it was not he who had left, so many years ago. And she had wanted that night as much as he.

"Of course it is," he replied, dropping his hands back to his sides. "We both have families, Lillian. We shouldn't have been so careless."

"I know," she whispered. They stared in opposite directions, eyes focusing on nothing in particular. Their children, their spouses... what would happen now?

"Eric knows," she said bluntly, after a moment.

"What?" He paused, then gaped at her, expecting the worst. "Did he... is that why you're here?"

"No, Grant," she said, her voice catching on itself. "I told him it's his." She hid her face from him, tears marking her pale skin.

"Oh..." He pulled her back to the table, and they sat side by side. He contemplated, trying to think of the situation rather than the baby, and she cried.

"I'm sorry," she said, after it seemed she'd driven him to silence.

"No," he said kindly, frowning at her. "You - you haven't done anything." He took his fingers, wiping away her tears. Then he sighed. "I think it's for the best, Lillian."

"What is?" She hugged her stomach protectively, loving their baby more than she should have. It gave her a strange hope, the idea that pieces of them had somehow unified. She hated that it made her happy, but it did.

"That Eric thinks it's his. The two of you can raise it." He stood, pacing senselessly to the counter. "You're good parents." There was a notch in his voice, but she ignored the possible truth behind it.

"You won't... you won't... care?"

"Of course I will," Grant murmured, containing himself as tightly as he could. "I've - I've always wanted a daughter. But I think this is simplest. Best. You can keep a secret, can't you?"

"Of course."

"Alright." He sighed, breathing through his nose. "I know - I know you aren't the wealthiest, so I'll help when I can."

"We don't need your help. We're fine, Grant."

"Alright," he consented again, knowing he would still do his best to help her. "Will you be able to get home okay?"

"Of - of course," she replied, confused.

"Then you should probably go."

He escorted her to the door, ignoring her shocked expression with steely determination. "Good night." He shut the door, refusing to glance back until she stood safely behind it, and Lillian felt it like the slap that it was.

A/N: That's all for now! Please, please review!


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